Most religion-mongers have bated their paradises with a bit of toasted cheese. They have tempted the body with large promises of possessions in their transmortal El Dorado. Sancho Panza will not quit his chimney-corner, but under promise of imaginary islands to govern.

His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity-Zekle.

The riches of scholarship, the benignities of literature, defy fortune and outlive calamity. They are beyond the reach of thief or moth or rust. As they cannot be inherited, so they cannot, be alienated.

In creating, the only hard thing is to begin: a grass blade's no easier to make than an oak.

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how.

Puritanism, believing itself quick with the seed of religious liberty, laid, without knowing it, the egg of democracy.

Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.